


Free and Easy

by Idday



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16217387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idday/pseuds/Idday
Summary: Connor's never had a one-night stand, before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill--this is where we leave you if you are/know somebody in this story.

“I don’t think I ordered that,” Connor says, looking back up at the bartender. There's a tumbler in front of him—scotch, neat. It’s what he’s been drinking tonight, but he’s sure he didn’t ask for another. 

“No,” the bartender says, “he did.”  

Connor looks down the bar—it's crowded, at this point in the reception, but Connor sees the man immediately. Tall, well built. Not classically handsome, maybe, with his wild curls, but there’s something about his face that Connor likes. He flashes a smile when they make eye contact, and then finishes what’s left in his own glass and makes his way over. 

“Hi,” Connor says, “um... thanks.” 

“I was hoping it wasn’t too presumptuous,” the man says. “Bride or groom?” 

Connor looks him over, feeling a little shy. He doesn’t get approached like this, often. He likes the color of the man’s suit, of his tie—it makes his eyes look incredibly blue. His suit is cut slim enough that Connor can tell that he’s fit, muscular. Connor doesn’t do this, with strangers. He never has.  

Somehow, this man doesn’t feel like a stranger. There’s something warm in his open gaze. Something that makes Connor blurt, “bride.” 

“That explains why we haven’t met,” the man says, “I’m Colin’s friend. From college.” 

“I know,” Connor says, before he can help himself. He can feel himself blush, when the man raises his eyebrows. “I saw you, at the ceremony,” Connor explains. “You were sitting on that side of the church.” 

When the man smiles, it transforms his face. “That’s kind of a relief, actually,” he says. “I noticed you, too, but. I didn’t want to seem creepy. I almost didn’t buy you a drink.” 

“Are you going to have one?” Connor asks. 

“I guess that depends,” the man says. “If you don’t want me to stay—no hard feelings. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You looked surprised, when the bartender told you who I was.” 

“No, I,” Connor says. “This just doesn’t happen to me, like, ever. But I'd like... you can sit down, if you want.” 

“Okay,” the man says, and he pulls out the stool next to Connor. “I’m Jack.” 

It seems strange to shake his hand, but Connor puts his out semi-automatically, anyway, and Jack takes it. His hand is very warm. “Jack,” Connor repeats—he likes the way it feels in his mouth. It seems right, somehow—seems like the kind of name a kid from Boston should have, and if Connor had to guess, judging from the faint accent and from the fact that Jack and Colin went to college together, that’s what he’d guess, that Jack’s just a kid from Boston. “I’m Connor.” 

“Good to meet you,” Jack says, and nods at Connor’s glass. “I hope you like that—I asked the bartender what you were drinking, earlier. This one is my favorite.” 

Connor takes a cautious sip—it's not what he had been drinking, but he’s had it before. This scotch is much better that what he started the night with. And much pricier. “That’s an expensive gamble,” Connor says. 

“You’re worth it,” Jack says, although he can’t possibly know that. It’s a line, and it makes Connor’s face flame up, but it doesn’t feel like Jack’s putting the moves on him, somehow. “Besides,” Jack teases, “if you didn’t like it, I would have known to walk away.” 

When the bartender comes back over, Jack orders the same for himself.  

“It was a nice wedding,” Connor says, after a moment.  

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I’m happy for Colin. He was always a romantic, and Alyssa seems great. He deserves to be happy, you know?” 

He’s not wearing a ring, Connor notices when he picks up his glass. Not that he was expecting it, of course—Jack wouldn’t have approached him if he had someone else. That’s the whole point of being at a bar, at a wedding—but it sends a strange pang through him when he notices Jack’s bare finger, anyway.  

“We all deserve that,” Connor says, and Jack looks at him for a long moment. Connor doesn’t know him well enough to read whatever’s on his face.  

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, and then picks up his tumbler. “Here’s to happiness, then.” 

Connor toasts him, and wishes he was a little drunker. He feels strange already, but he thinks it might just be nerves. He feels like he’s playing someone else—this isn’t the kind of thing that happens to him. He doesn’t get approached by handsome men at bars. He doesn't know what to say.  

“You have beautiful eyes,” he blurts out, and feels his face flame up.  

“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” Jack says, but he smiles. “It’s just the tie. It was a gift.” 

“It’s nice,” Connor says, and he wants to reach out and touch, but that would be... he doesn’t. “But it’s not just the tie.” He throws back what’s left in his glass, and Jack watches his throat work. His gaze makes Connor feel the same way as the whiskey—a little overwarm, a little overwhelmed.  

“Let me buy the next round,” Connor say, emboldened.  

… 

They get through two more drinks together, chatting. It doesn’t come easily to Connor, but Jack’s good at small talk, good at making him feel comfortable. He doesn’t live in Boston full time, anymore—just comes down every now and then to see family. He moved up to New York for work (state, not city), and he has a dog. He has a sister. His hand, sometime during drink number three, landed on Connor’s thigh, and it makes Connor want to lean in closer. 

Those are the things he knows about Jack.  

The bar is clearing out, slowly. The reception is winding down—Colin and his wife left for their honeymoon a half-hour ago, and most of the people left in the room are doing a drunken macarena. Connor should be thinking about how he’s getting home tonight, because he’s certainly not driving, but he’s not thinking that. He’s thinking maybe that he won’t be going home. 

When the bartender gives last call, Jack looks down at his empty glass. “Look,” he starts. They’ve moved closer together—their knees are touching. Jack’s still got a palm on his thigh. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding really sleazy, but. I’ve got a room here, tonight. And if you want—and if you don’t that’s totally fine, believe me, but if you want to. Um. You would be welcome to come up with me.” 

“Oh,” Connor says. It probably don’t sound very enthusiastic, but his brain is racing ahead already, to what might happen if he said yes, already thinking about how Jack might kiss him, about what else might happen. 

“Like I said,” Jack says, after a beat of silence. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I can call you a cab or order you an uber, or whatever. I didn’t mean to make you feel like—” 

“No, I,” Connor stutters, “sorry, I mean. I do want, but. I’m sorry. I just don’t do this, really, so I’m kind of. New. At doing this.” 

“Oh,” Jack says, in a much different tone than Connor had used.  

“Actually, I,” Connor says, and takes a deep breath. “I haven’t ever. Done this before. So.” 

“With a man?” Jack says. 

It would be so easy to say yes. “Or with. Anyone.” 

It’s humiliating, to say it out loud like that. He doesn’t want to look at Jack, can’t meet his eyes. Jack’s hand gives a strange sort of spasm on his thigh, squeezing tight for a moment. “So if that changes things,” Connor says, softly, “that’s fine. I know that some guys think that’s weird.” 

“Connor,” Jack says, and Connor finally meets his gaze—dark and intent. “Unless that changes something for you, and it’s fine if it does, but. That doesn’t change anything for me. I promise you.” 

“Okay,” Connor says, a little shaky. This is happening. This is... happening. “Then. Let’s go.” 

… 

Jack closes out his tab quickly, saying something to the bartender before signing his check. He walks Connor to the elevator, a warm hand on his back. Connor feels like everyone in the lobby is looking at them, but he’s probably just self-conscious, has to remind himself that this is the sort of thing that other people do all the time. 

Probably, it’s the sort of thing that Jack does all the time.  

But Connor feels comfortable with him, somehow. Like they’re not actually strangers. Connor’s not drunk, but he feels pleasantly loose. He feels ready. He’s done waiting—it's enough for it to be with someone he trusts, with someone he likes, with someone he’s attracted to. He’s gotten this close before, to sleeping with people, but he’s never been excited like this.  

They’re alone in the elevator, when Jack slides a hand under his suit jacket. “Okay?” He asks, and Connor nods and doesn’t have time to say anything before they’re kissing. Connor knows how to do this, knows how to do this with Jack. This is all familiar. He opens his mouth and kisses back, and is startled when the elevator doors ding open.  

“Come on,” Jack says, lips pink, and takes his hand.  

The room is nice—standard, in a hotel like this. There are two suitcases against the wall, but everything else is tidy and fresh. There’s a bucket on the table that must have been delivered recently, because it’s full of ice. A champagne bucket. 

“Expecting company?” Connor asks. The thought is unpleasant, somehow. 

“No,” Jack says, pressing up behind him. “I asked the bartender to have room service bring it up. Just now. Is it too much?” 

He’s embarrassed, Connor thinks. His face is flushed—a blush pattern that Connor wants to trace with his fingers. It dips under his collar. Connor wants to see how far it goes.  

And what is he doing here, if he’s still too afraid to touch? 

“No,” Connor says, and brushes Jack’s cheek with his fingers. “I think it’s sweet. But I'm not very thirsty.” 

He sees the joke coming before Jack even opens his mouth, the way his eyes sparkle. “At least, not for champagne,” Jack says, and Connor pushes at his shoulder before pulling him in by the tie, more aggressive than he’s been all night.  

The way Jack kisses him back is gentle, soft. Connor might resent it more—that Jack’s clearly being so careful with him—if it didn’t feel so good. They kiss for a long time like that, standing close together, until Jack pushes the suit jacket from Connor’s shoulders and has to step back to work at his tie. 

“Who knotted this?” he says, when he has to work to loosen it, and Connor laughs, almost involuntarily.  

“Maybe you should worry about your own clothes,” he says, but he doesn’t push Jack away. He doesn’t think he could.  

“I’m not worried about any clothes,” Jack returns, and kisses Connor under the jaw before he pushes him to sit on the edge of the bed. He undoes Connor’s top button and kisses him there, in the hollow of his throat, and then the next, following the path with his mouth. He kneels, to undo the last few buttons—mouths at Connor’s abs, the skin right above his belt.  

“Has anyone ever...?” he asks, and Connor shakes his head. Jack stays on his knees. “I’d like to,” he says, and smooths his hands over Connor’s hips, his thighs. “If you’d let me.” 

Connor breathes out, shaky. Jack must be able to tell how hard he is, just from kissing, just from—just from Jack. “Okay,” he says. Jack noses at Connor’s core, again, kissing him there while his fingers work at Connor’s belt buckle. 

“Okay,” he repeats, and then Connor reaches down, stills his hands. 

“Wait,” he says. 

Jack sits back on his heels. “Everything okay?” he asks. “We don’t have to. We can stop.” 

“No, I just want. Would you, um. Would you take your shirt off, too?” 

“Sure,” Jack says, and strips off with much less finesse than he showed Connor. He’s built thick—packed with muscle but less sleek than Connor is. It makes his mouth go dry. He’s wearing a chain around his neck, Connor can see now—it's got a cross pendant on it, and two plain metal bands that remind Connor of wedding rings. They must be special, he thinks, if Jack’s wearing them near his heart like that. “Better?” 

“Better,” Connor confirms, and stands to push his slacks off his hips, step out of them. Jack watches, intent, and Connor feels more confident than he would have thought—less exposed. He feels safer, with Jack half-naked, too.  

When he sits back on the bed, he settles against the pillows near the headboard. “Come up here,” he says. He doesn’t want Jack on his knees, for this. Doesn’t want it to hurt for him.  

Jack follows his lead, leaning over him for a long kiss, first. “Tell me, if,” he says, and trails off. He doesn’t need to finish—just works his way back down Connor’s chest, pausing to mouth at his nipple.  

“You too,” Connor says dumbly, and he can’t see Jack’s mouth where it’s pressed into his stomach, but he can tell he’s smiling, the way his eyes crinkle.  

Jack starts slow, licking at his slit, the sensitive spot under the head of his cock. It feels, for all of Connor’s imagining, better than he could have expected. He can hear his own breathing and the slick sounds of Jack’s mouth and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.  

“Jack,” he says, and reaches down—his hair is softer than Connor might have expected and Jack moans when Connor pulls at it a little, so he does it again.  

His mouth is clever and warm and he seems to know already, somehow, what Connor is just finding out that he likes best—the soft suction and the way his hand twists at the base of Connor’s cock. He works him slowly, adjusting to the way that Connor groans and pulls at his hair until he opens his throat and works his mouth all the way down, pressing his nose into Connor’s belly before pulling back. “Holy shit,” Connor says, and wonders a little hysterically—a little nonsensically—how much practice Jack must have, to do that. 

“Okay?” Jack says, when he pulls back. His voice is hoarse and he looks smug, and Connor wishes he didn’t like that.  

“Jack,” Connor says, and then, when Jack leans back over him, “wait, wait.” 

Jack pulls back again, panting a little. He’s still wearing his pants—Connor eyes the outline of him and stops himself, at the last second, from reaching down to fist his own cock. “Are you gonna,” he blurts, “are you gonna fuck me?” 

“Um,” Jack says, “I can... do you want to? We can do whatever you want.” 

“I,” Connor says, and it catches in his throat. “I think I want to.” 

Jack bites his lip, makes an aborted motion like he was going to palm himself through his slacks. “Okay,” he says. “Then, yeah. Let's. Yeah.” 

“Come here,” Connor says, reaching for him. “Can you? First? I want to kiss you.” 

“My mouth’s been,” Jack starts, but he’s already falling forward, pressing himself against Connor. 

“I don’t care,” Connor says, and Jack licks into his mouth, reaching down to hitch Connor’s leg around him with a groan, palming him hard enough that Connor might wake up with bruises. Hopes he does.  

The fabric of Jack’s pants is unpleasant against Connor’s sensitive cock—he breaks away long enough to pant, “off, off.”  

Jack climbs off him, which is. Not what Connor meant.  

“Hold on,” he says, when he sees Connor’s face, and grins at him. “I’m just gonna grab some stuff, okay?” 

He ducks into the bathroom, and Connor watches him go. It’s still surreal that he’s here, that Jack’s here, that it’s like this. This is not what he expected, coming to this wedding, but he’s glad that it’s happening. He’s glad that Jack bought him a drink.  

Jack comes back, naked, carrying lube and condoms. Connor doesn’t tease him again about expecting company, because he’s glad that Jack has them. He watches him, a little apprehensively. 

“I don’t know what I'm doing,” he reminds Jack, when he drops the supplies on the bed next to Connor’s hip and presses back in between his thighs. 

“I do,” Jack says. “I’m gonna blow you again, okay? At first? It’ll make it easier.” 

“Okay,” Connor says, and thumbs over Jack’s lips. “I’ve, um. I’ve done it before. To myself. Is that weird?” 

“No.” Jack bites at the pad of his finger, gentle. “It’s kinda hot. You can show me, next time.” 

“Um,” Connor says, and closes his eyes. Next time seems like a different world. “Maybe.” 

Jack kisses his neck, and settles back down between his legs. Connor keeps his eyes closed; he can hear the bottle of lube being opened, the sound of Jack warming it between his fingers. When Jack kisses the inside of his thigh, he lets his legs fall open, feels the first brush of Jack’s fingers. His left hand is anchoring Connor’s hip to the bed—impulsively, Connor reaches down and thumbs over his fingers. 

There’s a strange jolt in his stomach, unpleasant, like missing a step on the stairs, when he feels the bare skin there. 

“Jack,” he says, and he can hear something like panic in his voice. 

“Hey,” Jack says softly, and he pulls his head back, turns his fingers over to thread together with Connor’s. When Connor opens his eyes and looks down, his brow is wrinkled, an expression of worry so familiar that Connor feels like he’s seen it a thousand times. “It’s me, Connor. It’s just me.” 

“Jack,” Connor says again. It sounds like relief, this time. “Sorry, I. Please, please keep going.” 

“Okay,” Jack says, but he keeps their fingers linked, this time, as he works Connor open with his other hand. He’s slow and sure, mouthing at him distractingly every time he adds a finger. Connor’s so on edge, now, but Jack seems to know it—he has an unerring feel for when Connor’s about to come, pulls back every time to let him breathe.  

“How do you want it?” Jack asks, when he reaches for a condom. “It might be easier if—" 

“Like this,” Connor blurts. “I want, I want you close. I want to see you.”  

“Alright,” Jack soothes, stroking at his side. “Any way you want, babe.”  

He pushes in slow and steady, face concentrated. Connor makes a sound he’s never heard from himself, before—a high, reedy moan. When he’s pressed all the way in, Jack pauses, presses their chests together. He hooks an arm around Connor’s back, under him, and pulls him impossibly closer, rocks them together. Connor’s thighs are hitched up high, around his waist, and he doesn’t remember putting them there, or pressing his open mouth to Jack’s throat, but he needs it like this—close and slow and much too intimate for strangers.  

“You feel fucking incredible,” Jack tells him, and Connor can’t speak, right now, can’t use his words, but he knows the feeling. He’s been hard for so long—Jack's been working him over for hours, days, years. He’s going to come just like this, barely fucked.  

He doesn’t care.  

Jack hardly pulls out when he thrusts; just grids in, again and again, working against Connor’s prostate like they’ve done this hundreds of times. He doesn’t reach down between them until the last instant, the press of his stomach against Connor’s cock almost enough. Connor bites him half accidentally when he comes, mouthing at his throat. Jack comes not long after—he must have liked working Connor up, to be that close to the edge. 

They untangle after a few breaths together. Connor feels suddenly chilled, sweaty in the air conditioning of the room without Jack pressed up against him; Jack rolls off the bed and throws out the condom, comes back with a damp washcloth.  

The silence feels suddenly fragile. 

“If you want,” Jack says, finally, perched on the bed by Connor’s hip. “You’re welcome to stay.” 

“Is that how it’s supposed to work?” Connor asks. “I thought one-night stands at wedding were supposed to be for one night. It’s right in the name.” 

Jack looks away, shrugs. “Who says it has to end at the wedding?” he asks. “You’re welcome to—" he breaks himself off. He’s still not looking at Connor, seems, maybe for the first time tonight, afraid of being rejected. “I’d like it, if you stayed.” He says, a little more firmly.  

Connor reaches out, touches Jack’s bare neck over his chain. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.” 

… 

Jack’s already awake when Connor finally opens his eyes the next morning, slumped in one of the armchairs on his phone, facing the window. He’s shirtless, Connor can tell from behind, his hair in disarray like he hasn’t showered, yet. Connor adores him.  

Jack must hear him get up, but he doesn’t put his phone down until Connor leans over him from behind, face in his neck and arms over his shoulders. “Hi,” he says into Jack’s skin.    

“Hey,” Jack says, and tips his head back for an upside-down kiss when Connor finally pulls back. “Was that okay?” 

Connor hums, and palms over Jack’s chest. “It was good,” he says, “can I have my ring back, now?” 

Jack fumbles with the clasp of the chain the first try, then lets the two bands slide into his palm. “Here,” he says, and hands Connor his, slides his own back on, as well. 

“Thanks,” Connor says, and rounds the chair to give him a real kiss. He’s too heavy to sit in Jack’s lap, really, which doesn't stop Jack from pulling him down anyway. “How was your night? I got picked up by a hot stranger in a bar.” 

Jack smirks at him, briefly, and then asks again, “it was okay? It wasn’t too...” 

“No, it was good,” Connor says. “Fun. I missed my wedding ring, though. And I... even though I knew it was you, obviously, even though I knew we were pretending, there was a second where I. I don’t know. I got kind of freaked out when I closed my eyes and thought about having sex with a stranger. But. It was just you.” 

“Just me,” Jack says, mock offended. “I’ll have you know that I gave a hot stranger the best first time of his life, last night.” 

“Better than my real first time, for sure,” Connor acknowledges, “and better than our real first time, too.” 

“I liked our real first time,” Jack says, and Connor did too, of course—but their real first time was rushed and angry and confused. “But,” Jack pushes on, “I was much better in bed this time, if I do say so myself. And I liked getting the chance to do it right, this time.” 

“We did fine, the first time,” Connor says softly. “Look how we turned out.” 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “But it was kind of nice, to get to meet you. I never really did before, you know? I knew so much about you before we ever met, there was so much tied up there. By the time we met in person it was like I’d known you for years.” 

“It was nice to meet you, too,” Connor says. He looks at Jack for probably the thousandth time, or the millionth—Jack's face is so familiar to him, now.  _Jack_ is so familiar to him, now. Connor sees him every day, in person or over facetime or on TV or in the pictures hanging in his house. In their wedding photos. He knows everything about Jack. Jack’s so familiar to him that it’s strange when he manages to surprise Connor—like yesterday, when he suggested this. Strange, but not bad. “But. It’s better to know you.” 

Jack smiles, sudden and bright. “Soft,” he teases, like he’s not worse when nobody’s looking. “Let’s go downstairs. They have a buffet and I want coffee and Noah struck out last night and I want to give him shit about it. Even I managed to wheel someone.” 

“You wheeled your own husband, I'm not sure it counts,” Connor says, but he stands anyway, and reaches for his own sweatpants.  

“You are kind of a sure thing,” Jack teases. 

“I’m not, I’m very picky. Put a shirt on, you exhibitionist. There are going to be people with cameras down there.” 

“You’re not picky, you have low standards. Just look at me.” 

“Hey,” Connor says, mildly, “don’t talk about my husband like that.” 

“Ugh,” Jack says, but he’s smiling and he gropes at Connor’s ass on his way to the door.  

“For the record,” Connor says, before Jack can open the door. “What you said yesterday? About me feeling like I missed something, because we got together young? I’ve never felt like that. I’d rather have this, you, than a bunch of random strangers.” 

Jack’s face changes just a fraction—softens—and then Connor’s being kissed hard and deep against the door.  

It still leaves him breathless, even now that he knows who Jack is.  

… 

“Besides,” Jack says in the elevator, “I can be any random stranger that you want me to be. Just say the word.” 

“Huh,” Connor says. “I’ve always had kind of a thing for hockey players.” 

“Weird,” Jack says, straight-faced, but he puts his arm around Connor’s waist, slides his hand up under his shirt. “Where the hell are we going to find one of those?” 


	2. Prequel

“We’re going to be late,” Connor calls up the stairs for the second time. 

There’s a series of muffled thumps and then Jack rounds the corner, shoeless. 

“Sorry,” he says, “couldn’t find my left shoe. It was under the bed.”

“If you’d just put them in the closet—” Connor starts.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack interrupts, and sits on the lowest stair to tie his laces. “Where’s the fire, anyway? You haven’t wanted to go to a wedding since ours.”

“That’s not true,” Connor says, “we just go to a lot of them. Plus, Colin’s your friend. I hardly know him.”

“Occupational hazard,” Jack says, and stands up. “Hey, come here. You've still got crumbs on your chin, dummy.”

Connor stands still for the grooming, even when Jack unknots his tie. “It was fine,” Connor says mildly, and then rolls his eyes at the look Jack shoots him. It’s not even worth arguing about at this point—one of the many little differences in opinions they’ve stopped caring about. Jack texts him sometimes during the season, still— _just saw you on TV. Your tie looks terrible._

It’s the type of text that means,  _I miss you._

Connor doesn’t mind as much when Jack’s here to fix it for him. 

“There,” Jack says, and uses the knot to pull him in for a quick kiss. 

“Thanks,” Connor says, and then reaches out to smooth Jack’s down, just because he knows it will get his hand batted away. “I like this color on you.”

“Sure,” Jack says, a little wryly, and glances down—his tie is the same light blue as his suit. “I assumed that’s why you bought it for me.”

“My mom picked it out,” Connor says, because his mom likes Jack more than she likes him, probably, and follows Jack to the garage. He heads automatically for the passenger side of the jeep—Jack doesn’t let him drive in Boston. “I still think we should just uber, if you don’t want to drive home. It’s dumb to get a hotel room when you live ten minutes away.”

“Maybe I want to treat you, baby,” Jack says drily as he reverses out of the garage. He puts his hand on the back of Connor’s seat to check the road over his shoulder, trails his fingers across the back of Connor’s neck when he drops his hand. 

“We spend most of our lives in hotel rooms,” Connor says.

“A lot of people are staying in the hotel,” Jack replies, rote. Another conversation they’ve already had. “That’s why the reception is there. Noah got a room.”

“Because Noah’s going to hook up with a bridesmaid,” Connor says. “He always does.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, “That’s why single people go to weddings. It’s like single people going to bars—it's the whole point.”

“I guess I wouldn’t know,” Connor says. “I never really went to weddings before we got together. And I never really could go to bars.”

“Poor Connor McDavid, too famous to wheel girls at bars,” Jack teases. 

“I wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway,” Connor says. “Too... I don’t know. Too nerve-wracking.”

“It’s exciting,” Jack says, “that’s the point.”

“Speaking from experience?” Connor asks, pointedly.

Jack shrugs, gaze distant. “College,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to—Connor knows all of the stories. “You don’t ever feel like you missed out? We got together really young.”

Connor hums. 

“What about when people approach you?” Jack asks, “I know that’s happened. Like, what if I came up to you tonight and asked to buy you a drink?”

“I’d probably say I was married,” Connor says. “And that you are too, by the way.”

“No, I mean...” Jack drives right-handed, usually. He switches, suddenly—left hand on the wheel and right dropping to Connor’s thigh. “I wouldn’t try to pull someone wearing a ring, obviously. And I know you wouldn’t let someone chat you up, that’s not what I meant. I meant, like. What if you didn’t know me? If we hadn’t met, if I was a stranger, then we wouldn’t be married and we wouldn’t be wearing rings. What then?”

“Then I might be irritated that my husband wasn’t wearing his wedding ring,” Connor says.

“Come on, buzzkill, play along.” 

“If we hadn’t met, I might still be married, Jack. I’m very popular.” Jack squeezes his thigh, a little harder than he probably means to. 

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Cocky,” Connor chides, but he drops his hand over Jack’s to soften the blow. Jack turns his hand over, palm up, until Connor laces their fingers together. “Okay, I’d... I don’t know, I guess. I’ve never thought about it before. I’d talk to you, probably. Isn’t that what people do?”

Jack parks in front of the church, snagging an empty spot in the back of the lot. Sure enough—they're late. Then again, Connor’s been to enough weddings now to know that the bride usually is, too. 

“That’s not all people do,” Jack says. He has to pull his hand away to put the car in park and pull the keys from the ignition. Then he puts it back on Connor’s thigh, higher than before. Connor’s mom had been right—the tie does make his eyes look bluer than usual. Connor feels a familiar rush of warmth, a pang in his core. 

“Keep it in your pants, Jack,” he says, but he has to swallow, hard, and Jack tracks the motion, cracks a ghost of a smile. He likes teasing. He likes pushing. Connor learned, a long time ago, that he likes being pushed. “We’re about to go into a church, for God’s sake.”

“Hey,” Jack says, as Connor turns to open his door. Jack’s leaned in close, when Connor looks back at him. “Give me your wedding band.”

“What?”

Jack leans in to kiss him, chaste and warm. He’s still looking at Connor’s lips when he pulls back. “You trust me?”

“Yeah, of course I do.”

Jack meets his eyes then, gaze full of intent. “Give me your wedding ring. I wanna try something.”

Connor pulls his ring off, slowly, and puts it in Jack’s open palm. “What do you want to try?”

“You’ll find out,” Jack says, and closes his fingers over the ring. “Come on. We’re late.”

**Author's Note:**

> WOWWWWW this is OOCaf but my heart has been dead-poet's-society-style standing on a table shouting "OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN" for like three days so idc. It's been a hot second since I wrote anything so I'm trying to flex that muscle again--have this useless fluff while I try to energize to work on my other, longer, more impossible fic. 
> 
> Please let me know if you need me to tag better, or drop me a line just because! 
> 
> Title from "Getting to Know You."


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